Fallen Angels, Rising Demons
For days Bruce let the wind carry the boat upstream. His food supplies would last him weeks, and the river was evidently far more straight than the map he had been provided. Whilst on the boat he worked on the skills he would need, such as fire lighting and resourcefulness. A keen toxophilite, Bruce strung his own bow and tested it several times, generally having to tie up the boat and fetch the arrow back from where it had embedded itself in the shore. As the boat moved further north he came to notice that the plants became taller and thicker, each competing to survive in the colder environment. At night wolves howled, their cries echoing across the uninhabited wilderness. It was nearly a week after leaving the village that Bruce decided to leave the boat. The river was getting shallow and narrow, and it was only a matter of time before it couldn’t any further. He moored it up against a rocky outcrop and clambered off, back onto the grass. He had covered several dozen miles, and now the mountains reared far higher in the sky than they had earlier that week. Bruce reloaded his bag, untied the ropes for use later, and as the boat turned and started to float with current he walked off. The mountains grew closer very quickly, and Bruce found himself walking on an ever-rising gradient. The grass was patchy, but after an hour Bruce entered a horrendously thick belt of evergreen and pine trees. As his feet fell on the needle-littered ground, the sound was muffled by the sheer volume of trees. Light came through, but augmented by the mass of leaves to a shade of green, and even then it was barely sufficient to provide proper light. Bruce heard strange sounds and rustlings, but dismissed these as merely sounds caused by animals. It was difficult to gauge the time in the half-light, but as the green light and red sky mixed to a brownish-colour he decided that he had done enough for the day. He pulled out his sleeping bag and laid it down. He started several small fires to keep creatures away, ate a quick meal of honey and dried straw twisted into an egg-shape (a recipe he had concocted himself), and then laid his backpack next to his bed and fell asleep. But when he woke up the next morning, he was not presented with a thick canopy over a floor of damp, rotten leaves. Instead, he was underneath the clear blue sky, and beneath his sleeping bag was rock. He scurried out of the bag and looked around. His rucksack was still with him; that was good. However after that it was all bad. His sleeping bag had two huge holes at the bottom, and the rucksack had been torn in several places. Something had dragged him from his sleeping place, all the way up the mountain. Oh well. At least he was further on his way. He quickly furled up his sleeping bag and stuffed it into the rucksack. Immediately afterwards he examined where it had been torn, to see if it would cause any damage. Fortunately, none of the tears had gone all the way through to the interior, and even if they had they wouldn’t have opened up any important compartments. So that eased his mind. Bruce slung the bag over his back and started to walk again. But before he had been walking two minutes, a huge shadow fell over him. Bruce stopped, and slowly turned to look. In the sky was a bird of terrific size. It’s body had a red and a brown body, and the feathers had tiny black-and-white circles that appeared every now and then over the brown plumage. The wings were gigantic, the size of several tall men lying head-to-toe, and the feet bore talons that shimmered jet black, tapering to a point so precise that they could cut through most weaker metals. The beak was hooked and golden, but with crimson tinge around the front and the nostrils. The eyes were dark and small. Along it’s back ran a long series of purple frills, composed of dozens of long thin feathers. It’s body was laced with muscle. And all of this fell through the air towards Bruce. Immediately, Bruce ran. He leapt across the rocky, dusty ground. The bird merely gave a few tiny flicks in it’s wings and tail and adjusted it’s course appropriately. Noticing this, Bruce double-backed, trying to confuse the bird. But the aerial predator knew all the tricks instinctively, and had a few of it’s own. It threw it’s wings forward, braking it in mid-air. It plummeted on top of Bruce. Instantly, Bruce leapt sideways, letting the bird force itself to stop moments before it crashed into the ground. It swept it’s head sideways to face him. Bruce kneeled, one hand one the floor, the other reaching for a large stone. The bird charged at him. Bruce grasped the stone and swung it round hard into the side of the avian’s head. The bird screeched and moaned, giving Bruce valuable seconds to get away. He scrambled upright and ran as hard as he could up the hill. Meanwhile, the bird stood back up, recovered, and jumped back into the air, coasting the ground, inches above the dust, bobbing to avoid the rocks. It was about to pounce on Bruce again when it saw the glinting object in his hand. It pulled back just in time to avoid the swinging steel blade. Now Bruce had the upper hand he was determined to keep it. The bird hovered a few metres away. Or as Bruce thought of it, a stone’s throw away. This was precisely what he intended to do. He picked up a rock and threw it at the bird. It hit it in the wing. The giant avian squawked. Bruce picked up another and threw that one. It hit the bird’s head. Bruce continued picking up stones and throwing them until finally the bird turned and flew away. Bruce smiled, and turned to continue walking up the hill. Where another bird flew right at him and caught him in his claws. Bruce struggled but he was already high in the air, suspended by the tight grip of the flyer’s talons. He needed to escape but he dared not moved; if he was released at this altitude then it would be a long drop towards a rock face where he would surely be dashed to pieces. He remained still, letting the bird carry him up the mountain. Although Bruce would have taken hours, the bird covered several kilometres in around forty-five minutes. At the end of this it circled round, and started an approach to what seemed to Bruce like a large brown blip on the mountain’s surface, where a huge level pad had been constructed. As the bird approached, Bruce squinted and saw many brown-and-red spots all over the pad, and some circling in the air. Then he realised what he was seeing. It was a gigantic communal nest for hundreds of these birds, their equivalent of a town. And Bruce was about to be dropped right into the centre. The bird flew low over the surface, skimming the heads of other birds that reached up to snap at Bruce. It spun round several large rocky outcrops that served as anchors, and arrived at a large central clearing. It flew extremely low, dropped it’s speed, and then opened it’s talons. Bruce fell to the hard earth that had been compacted there. Slowly, he raised himself up. Around him were all sorts of other beasts, ranging from rabbits to wolves, from deer to bears. And Bruce had been added to the collection. Either the birds were making a zoo, which was pretty unlikely... Or this was tonight’s menu. ---- The area was enclosed by huge logs that had once come from some of the grander pines. This holding area was covered with compacted earth, and here and there some grass had poked out. A crudely carved-out tree carried a stream of water that ran from somewhere up the mountain and was carried across into a pool where the captured animals drank. The area was cleverly built to simulate a natural environment – even a few trees had been allowed to grow. But obviously it was a huge depositing and holding area. And the fact that the birds would hunt here was attested to by the skeletons that dotted the outer perimeter, next to the walls where huge rocks and logs had been arranged to create a fence. Bruce was perplexed by this. The birds had clearly constructed this, but he saw no way this was possible. The birds were hunters, and therefore had brains focused solely on killing. Never in all the places he had travelled had Bruce encountered such strange activity in animals. But then came an answer to his question. Out of the mass of the predatory birds came another type of bird. Tall, long necked, and completely red, it moved with a peculiar elegance. It’s head was quite large, particularly towards the back, where Bruce presumed the brain was situated. But perhaps the strangest feature was the wings – instead of folding across the bird’s flanks and stopping, it slung back towards the front, doglegging it’s way there. Then, at the end, it had a set of slender but evidently powerful fingers. Bruce had never seen anything like it, and presumed that somehow the birds had come to establish a symbiotic relationship with each other, one group building for the predators, which hunted down prey for themselves and the builders. What could have caused this Bruce didn’t know, but the Gods worked in strange ways. Although they had to be fairly cruel to leave him with an undesirable fate like this. As night fell, there seemed to be a particular activity among the birds. They clustered around the fenced area, buzzing with energy. The animals in the containment zone had been placid all day, and now Bruce had no doubt that this wasn’t a zoo – the birds had avidly been collecting and adding more animals, and it looked like this was going to be a free buffet. All Bruce had to defend himself was his sword. Or was it? He thought about the wolves and bears – and had an idea. The gates fell, and the huge mass of birds surged forward, in an attempt to grab at the food available. But when they arrived they found the wolves and bears and all sorts of dangerous beasts looking supremely angry. Especially since on one their number was on fire. The creatures chased after the human, who was waving his sword, cutting and slashing. When he fell into the bird ranks, he continued slicing and jabbing, injuring and enraging several birds. Then, just as the birds were about to turn on Bruce, the animals arrived. Immediately, there was a horrendous fight between the birds and the beasts. Beneath the stamping, ripping feet and the howls of rage, Bruce crawled slowly away from the mass. After a few minutes of careful dodging he finally arrived at the edge of the huge group. His bag and body were both intact, and immediately he stood up and started to run up the hill, leaving the massive fight behind. Category:Gielinor stories